Fearless
by Chaos Supernova
Summary: The scarecrow...it was gone now. Hard to believe, but the doctors told him it was true. They said he'd need therapy. He believed that. He guessed the only thing left was to go out and face the world that had been all too cruel to him. (Cover art belongs to my friend Katie. She doesn't have an account but is an amazing artist.)
1. Chapter 1

He blinked.

And for the first time - the first time in...in...how long had it been? Years? Months? Weeks, even? He didn't know. But for the first time in what had felt like forever, the scarecrow wasn't waiting for him.

He didn't know why. Had it just left? Why would it leave? Or was it waiting, waiting for him, giving him false hope only to push him back into the coma? Either way, he wanted to know.

Jonathan Crane was an inherently curious boy. His mother said he got it from his father. His father - what had happened to his father? Why hadn't he been by the hospital bed? Or maybe he was there and Jonathan had just been preoccupied. He didn't know. Another thing he wanted to find out.

He tried to push himself up, but he couldn't. His muscles weak from convulsing, he guessed. Convulsing. Pain. Fear. No. No, no, no...not again...

A flash of something bright, harsh - no. Its eyes like the pits of hell stared back at him. His breathing got ragged. He knew what was coming, the onslaught of pain, terror, pain, terror, and so on...

But then it stopped.

The scarecrow...just disappeared. Out of thin air. Huh.

This was certainly a new development. What if...what if he was finally trying to heal himself?

Was it possible?

Filled with new hope, he tried to say something, anything, but his throat was raw and ragged from endless screaming. Well, that was one more thing he couldn't do.

Stupid scarecrow. Stupid...

He felt a lump in his throat like he wanted to cry, but no tears came out. He figured that would happen. Why had Dad done this to _him_? His own _son_ , of all people? He had known his father was a little on the tipsy side for a while now, but he never thought he'd force his own son to endure this...this hell...

A nurse pushed her way through the doors, thank god. She had a large stack of papers in one hand and was balancing a styrofoam cup of something steaming that he assumed was coffee in the other. He vaguely recognized her. Brown hair, brown eyes...he didn't know her name. He probably had been...preoccupied.

He'd had various nurses, some of which he hated and others he liked. What's-her-face was one of his favorites. She was in his room the most often out of all the nurses. She'd just...watch him, sometimes. He liked the company.

Sometimes she'd cry when she watched him. He did not like that.

"Hello?" he tried to say. He didn't hear his voice echo back. What did his voice even sound like anymore? He wasn't sure he'd recognize it if he could speak.

The nurse set the cup of coffee down on a small table, pulling out a chair in the small room (more like a large hallway) that connected to his. He could see through the glass barrier. They either knew this and ignored this, or the company they got the barrier from made a mistake.

She glanced at him. She did a double take when she noticed him smiling at her. God, it hurt to smile. He felt like his face wasn't meant to move that way. Well, he'd smiled before, many times, it just felt so out of place now...

"Jonathan?" she asked hesitantly.

He nodded. Again, it felt like his head wasn't meant to move in that way, but he pushed that thought to the back of his head.

"Are - are you okay? Can I get you anything? Can you talk? Can you move?" She lept up from her chair and threw open the door to his room.

He was getting used to smiling now. It used to be a reflex. He was working on it now.

He flexed his fingers. They worked. If only his voice did. Maybe...? He tried moving his wrists. Hmm...they all worked. Just a little sore. He pointed to the steaming cup sitting on the table.

"You want coffee? Be my guest." She brought the cup over to him. She walked over to the sink in his room to add some water to cool it off, but she apparently changed her mind. "Actually, coffee's probably not the best thing for you." She refilled the glass with water.

He smiled; this was what he had been getting at. He took the cup and drank the water.

Now _that_ felt weird. When was the last time he had drank water?

"Hi..." GOD, that cracked more than a teenage boy's voice. Well, he was a teenage boy...not the point.

She grinned slightly. "Hi, Jonathan. I'm...I'm glad to see you're feeling better. I'd imagine...you've got some questions," she said softly.

"Yeah. First and foremost, where's...where's Dad?" Slightly less creaky.

She winced. Oh. Had he been put in Arkham? "Jonathan...oh, my poor baby...your father passed away."

"What?" What?

"He...he had a gun, he was firing on the police officers..." He told him to run. But he didn't. Why didn't he?

"Oh."

She nodded, looking awkward. He supposed he had put her in an awkward situation, after all.

"How long have...have I been like this?" he asked.

"Three months," she said. Three months. It felt longer.

"Can I go home-" He caught himelf. Did he have a home, now? Mom died six years ago. Dad...well, Dad was dead too. It hit him.

 _I'm an orphan_ , he thought.

The nurse smiled thinly, so tight she barely was smiling at all. "Foster care starts when you're rested and healthy."

Foster care? Oh, god, he didn't want foster care...he wanted home...Mom...Dad...but some things you just couldn't have.

"Oh."

She looked like she was hesitating. "Jonathan..." she bit her lip. "Do you have any other relatives? Detective Gordon didn't find any - Detective Gordon being the one investigating the phobic murders and your dad - so the social workers took it from there, they put you in foster care. But - um...I know this is sudden, but...do you want to stay at my apartment? For a little while, at least?"

He smiled. That would probably be the best offer he would get. "Actually, yeah. I'd like that."

She smiled back at him, and turned away. She seemed like she was wiping her eyes. "Thank god, just...I mean, the doctors didn't think you'd live, and just now..."

"Well, my dad always said I was too special to die." He meant it as a joke. The nurse thought it as a joke, though clearly she was concerned for him after he said it. His father was a lunatic, he knew. But he was still family.

"My name is Jordan Wright," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He noticed he wasn't in his normal clothes. A hospital gown. Awkward.

"I think you know me..."

"Yeah. In a few days, you'll be all set to release. In the meantime, I have some paperwork to do." She got up, and for the first time, Jonathan felt like he actually knew a good person in his life. Well, anyone was a saint compared to the...thing his dad had become over the last six years.

He was fourteen now. He was eight when it happened. Memories faded. He didn't remember the sound of his mother's voice anymore. It made him sad sometimes, but other times it was like she was a different person all together, someone like a distant aunt that he knew but didn't remember too well. He hadn't been affected as much as his father had. And for a while, he respected that, and knew his father was going through hard times. But then Dad started acting...disturbing.

Hopefully, he could put all that behind him. Hopefully, he'd have a shot a new life.


	2. Chapter 2

**On my math homework there was a problem that focused on someone named Jerome and I just freaked out :D**

It was kind of boring. He just spent the recovery time sitting in a hospital bed. He got his old clothes back, though. Jordan asked him if he wanted them. He didn't even hesitate.

He passed the time by watching the news, trying to figure out what had been happening in the three months he had been "out of it". He saw a lot about Jim Gordon. He seemed like a good man. Jonathan was glad Gordon had helped him. He only wished Gordon had gotten there in time.

There seemed like there were a lot of people crazier than Dad, if that was even possible. He wondered what would have happened to his father if he had lived. Arkham was open for business.

On the second day of his recovery time, he had a visitor.

 _He glanced up from the TV when the door was slammed open. "Jonathan Crane?" a deep male voice said._

 _"That's me," he said._

 _That was when he had gotten a good look at the man. Jim Gordon. The hero cop._

 _"Are – are you alright?" Jim asked._

 _Jonathan nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."_

 _"Listen – I'm... I'm so sorry," Jim said, a pained, twisted look on his face._

 _"Don't be," he replied sincerely. "My father – well, he wasn't coming back. You did what you could. And I'm fine now, really. I'm doing a lot better."_

 _This clearly eased Jim a little bit, but Jonathan had the feeling he wasn't the kind of man to let things go that quickly. From what he had seen on TV, Jim Gordon was a good man. And good men didn't forgive themselves so quickly. At least, that's what he thought._

 _Jim sighed. "If there's anything you need, Jonathan, just ask me."_

 _Jonathan smiled at him. "Well, you did kind of save my life. I feel like I should be the one in debt here."_

 _Jim returned the smile. "Be safe, Jonathan." He then left. Jonathan smiled to himself a moment more, and resumed watching TV._

It was now the fourth day. The door creaked. Jordan walked in. "Hey, Jonathan?"

He sat up. "Hmm?"

"You might not like this, but...the social security people on your case want you to do therapy. Your first session is thirty minutes from now."

He frowned. "Why? I'm fine. Really."

"Well, just to clear up any after affects, I guess. Ask the social security people, not me. Maybe to make sure you're sane before you come into my house? No idea."

He raised his eyebrows at this, but figured he had no choice. "Okay."

Half an hour later, he was walking down the hospital hall to the mental health wing. God, mental health. It made him sound like one of the psychos on TV.

Room...what room was it? 206? Yeah, 206. He poked his head in the doorway. A fat, balding man sat at a large oak desk. It clashed horribly with the wood paneling on the walls.

"Jonathan Crane?" he said in a nasal voice, looking at Jonathan behind coke-bottle glasses.

"Umm...yeah."

"Have a seat, young man." He sounded like a pretentious teacher, like one of the old professors he had seen when his father had taken him to the college when he was little.

"Um, okay."

He sat down in a very uncomfortable wooden chair, facing the man.

"Hello, Jonathan. My name is Dr. Sinclair. I've heard quite a lot about your case." His case?

"Um, yeah, I just want to say, I'm _not_ insane."

Someone snorted, and Jonathan was ninety-nine percent sure it wasn't Dr. Sinclair.

Dr. Sinclair looked irritably behind Jonathan. Jonathan turned around to see a girl looking up from her books in the very back of the room. "April? Could you please go outside?" Dr. Sinclair said slowly like he was talking to a small child. He wasn't, the girl looked around his age.

She nodded, her apricot colored hair falling into her face as she got up. She tucked a strand of it behind her ear, and hurried out of the room.

Honestly, Jonathan would have liked it if she had stayed. Some company with Dr. Sinclair.

"I'm very sorry about my daughter. Now, Jonathan, let's resume our earlier conversation: I never said you were insane, I simply wanted to see how you were doing."

Yeah, yeah. "Well, I'm doing fine."

He leaned closer to Jonathan, Jonathan leaning back slightly from the stench of way too much cologne. "Do you really know that? We all know you've been through a traumatic experience, what with your father and all-"

"I said I'm FINE, okay?" Jonathan said, frowning.

"Jonathan, no need to get hasty-"

"Whatever."

He threw open the door and walked out. He didn't care if this was required or not, he wasn't just going to spill his feelings to some fat man who didn't care about or understand him at all. Screw you, fat man.

"He isn't a very good psychiatrist, is he?" a girl's voice said from behind him. He whirled around, to face the girl that was doing her homework earlier.

"What gave it away?" He hoped he didn't sound too bitter.

"He's a fat, bald man who doesn't care about anyone except himself and my mother's money."

"Sounds true."

"Oh, I know it's true. I've had to live with him for the past four years." If he was bitter before, this girl was downright sour.

"Ouch."

"I know, right? Hey, what's your name?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Um, Jonathan." He didn't know whether he should say his last name or not. Should he? Was Crane even his last name anymore?

"I'm April. I guess I'll be seeing you around? He doesn't trust me to be home alone after school, so I have to stay here until we go home at five. Needless to say, I've seen a lot of psychos, and you don't look like one of them." She grinned at him. This was a new feeling.

"Thanks, I guess?"

"You're welcome!" She smiled at him again. It felt good. "And – um – sorry about your parents and stuff..." She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him.

What?

Noticing his shocked expression, she quickly stopped and ran away, her books tucked under her arm.

What just happened?


	3. Chapter 3

Fearless

Chapter Three

She smelled like strawberries.

He had no experience with girls at all. He had been homeschooled his entire life, so it wasn't like he went to school with them. And then his mother died, leaving him to be a teenager with no motherly advice at all. Just insane fatherly advice.

So he was very understandably confused. Why had she hugged him? Wasn't that kind of weird? Like, in private, sure, but in public? Even when there wasn't anyone around? What was WRONG with girls?

"Jonathan?" Dr. Sinclair called, oozing through the doorframe.

He blinked, snapping out of his daze. "Hmm?"

"What were you doing with my daughter?" he asked, narrowing his beady eyes.

 _She's not even your daughter, she's your step daughter!_ "Just talking," he replied calmly.

"Alright, but let's keep our relationship – the same for her – strictly business, okay?" Dr. Sinclair said in a friendly tone that was a little too friendly.

He nodded, and started heading down the hall. He felt Dr. Sinclair's eyes on him, and stared down at his shoes. That was when he noticed, in the pocket of his hoodie, there was a white slip of paper.

Once he turned the corner and was confident Dr. Sinclair couldn't see him, he unfolded it. _I need someone to talk to_ , it said in slanted, sparkly purple letters. Gel pens. He smiled; he had loved playing with his father's gel pens when he was little. His father would just shake his head and let Jonathan play.

The memory made him cringe.

At the bottom of the paper, there was a phone number.

What.

His childhood was nothing but normal, and for him not normal was normal, if that even made sense. So now that he was faced with something kids his age really should be able to handle, he had no freakin' clue what to do.

He was too busy staring at the paper that he didn't notice when he bumped into someone.

Another girl.

ARGHHHHH.

She was dark haired and had a nice smile. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, flushing, moving out of his path.

"Um, it's fine. Really. Hey, um..." Don't act creepy don't act creepy don't act creepy... "So, what are you doing here?"

He wanted to punch himself.

"Well, uh, I'm actually here because of my little brother...he crashed his bike into a ditch..." she turned around to face him. "I'm getting some coffee for my mom. You want some?"

"Yeah, sure." Jonathan wasn't proud of it, but coffee had become an ally for him when he had to run late at night because of his father. That and dark clothes.

"Cool. So, what are you doing here?" she asked, starting to walk. He kept up with her.

"It's kind of a long story..." He trailed off, hoping the girl would drop the topic.

No such luck. "I've got nothing but time. My mom's probably asleep by now."

"It's...complicated." He could almost feel the defensive walls going up, like a second skin, one he had learned when his father drilled it into him to never, ever, ever tell anything about his "tests".

"How so?"

He ran a hand through his hair, just hoping the girl would back off. Though he supposed he'd have to talk about it sometime. Just not here, not now.

"Heard of the phobic murders?"

"Um, yeah, the thing with the crazy guy on the news? Were you one of the phobics?"

"The crazy guy". Ha. "I was the crazy guy's son."

The girl inhaled sharply. "Oh."

He smiled humorlessly. "'Oh' is right."

"I...well, that's a lot worse than my problem," she said, desperately trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, depends on how you look at it, I mean, I recovered, and honestly, if my father survived, my life would be a lot worse than it is now. I'm actually pretty happy with the way my life's going right now. Meanwhile, your brother will recover, and he'll get more attention from your parents, the focus on the family for months before he recovers fully. And even then, your parents will watch him more. So who has the worse problem now?" he said, smirking.

"I guess I do," she said, returning the smile. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Um, Jonathan. I'm kind of between last names right now."

She laughed. "I'm Laurel Wichowski. You're really nice, Jonathan."

"So are you. Except for the part about making me spill my entire life story."

She laughed again, which he took as a good sign. "Sorry..."

"Nah, it's fine, I mean, I was either gonna have to say it to my psychiatrist who's a horrible psychiatrist or you, so..."

She laughed even harder. "Wow. That's...wow. Seriously, try stand up comedy or something."

"Well, I've got some catching up on my lost fourteen years of childhood to do. Maybe after."

She grinned at him, and they made eye contact, like, real staring at each other eye contact. She had hazel eyes. They were really pretty. Her phone buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans, breaking the moment. "My mom says I have to come back, and forget about the coffee..." Her face darkened for a split second. "But you should really talk to me more." She took a pen from the coffee machine they were in front of, and took his arm. He let her. She wrote yet another phone number on it.

What was with hospital girls and him?

"Gotta go!" She flashed a grin at him and began jogging down the hall.

He grinned back and was 99.99% sure he looked like an idiot in the process.

After Laurel left, he found his way back to his room, no girl distractions along the way. Jordan was waiting for him, smiling.

"Ready to go?"

 **Oh my god, Jonathan and girls...just...wow XD**


	4. Chapter 4

Fearless

Chapter Four

 **WHERE'RE MY REVIEWERS AT?**

Wow. It felt good to be alive.

The sky, the air, however polluted it was, and just the liberating feeling of being _free_. He grinned, for the first time in what felt like years, he felt really happy. Like, real happiness, not the Hallmark kind.

Jordan had ditched her nurse uniform and wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, her brown hair pulled back in a beanie. Her chestnut boots clicked on the sidewalk. "Nice day, huh?"

"Imagine being outside for the first time in three months. That is literally what I'm feeling right now."

"Guess I can't judge, then." She glanced at him, and at the writing on his arm. He had put the hoodie in a backpack that was recovered from his old house. Funny how it wasn't "home" anymore. "What's that?"

He looked at his arm. He was really pale. "Umm...I was talking to this girl, and she gave me her number?"

Jordan grinned, like one of those "I know a secret" grins. "Is that all?"

"Pretty much." Well, it was. They were talking and she gave him her number. That's what he said.

She gave him a sideways glance. "If you say so..." She stopped in front of a small, bright blue car. "Your ride's here."

"Nice Prius."

"Shut up."

He got in the passenger seat, putting his backpack on the floor. "So, where's your place?"

"Byrd Building, a few blocks from here, which makes for an easy commute. Two bedrooms, so you'll get your own room. We're sharing a bathroom, though. Which reminds me, some ground rules. You must give me all the bathroom time I need. Must."

Jonathan nodded. He'd lived with his only his dad for six years, he didn't know that much about girls and bathrooms. He assumed makeup and just...girl stuff. (The internet was a thing, you know.) "Got it."

"Um, other than that? Uhh, you're a kid, get to bed at a decent time, don't eat everything, etcetera."

"Got that too." Living with Jordan seemed pretty easy.

"Oh, and no bringing any of your five girlfriends home without my permission."

" _What_?"

"Verne Sinclair sent me an angry email about teenagers, hormones, and his daughter. I'm assuming most of it is exaggerated, but still. And then that different girl that gave you her number. That's two. Anyone else?"

He smirked. "Yep, this one girl that practically fell into my lap, then this hot nurse that apparently has a thing for teenage boys, and did I mention the hooker?"

She snorted. "Man-slut indeed."

They smiled at each other, and broke out laughing.

"I'm sorry," he said after he recovered.

"You're hilarious."

"That's what my "second girlfriend" told me."

She laughed again, and narrowly managed not backing into someone when she parallel parked in front of what he assumed was the Byrd Building. It was nice, or it seemed nice from the outside, all art-deco with columns and older architecture.

They went to the elevator, Jordan putting a card through the gates at the door. Jonathan poked the sleeping security guard. "I'd feel really safe here."

"Yeah, well, at least there's the card system. Either way, you could have the entire GCPD here and a robber could probably get in here. Security and Gotham don't really mix."

"Agreed."

After a minute in the elevator, Jordan used her card again to open her apartment. "This is my place. Welcome home, kiddo."

'Home'. The word felt funny out loud. When he thought of _home_ , he thought of the house he'd lived in before the fire, with a mother and father and most of all, a family.

Jordan's apartment was nice, very cozy. Coffee colored hardwood floors accented cream walls bathed in soft yellow light, and the furniture and layout was very contemporary. The door Jonathan came through faced a window that was the entire wall opposite the door.

To the right of the door, there was a sitting room, with a dark sofa and coffee table facing a flatscreen TV on the wall with the door. To the left was a kitchen and dining area, centered around a large granite counter in the middle of that space.

Jordan led him past both of those spaces and into a door behind the kitchen on the left side of the apartment. "This is your room. Um, tomorrow you can just take my credit card and buy whatever you need. Under 1,000 dollars, that is. I've got work tomorrow, and you were homeschooled, right?"

"Yeah, by my dad." Wait. Was Jordan going to make him go to a public school?

"Okay. You're gonna need to go to school, kid. Get an education and stuff."

"Yeah, I know. I will." But to be honest, the thought of school terrified him. He had no experience talking to people his own age, much less people in general. His life consisted of his mother and father. And when his mother died, it was just his father.

There had been the odd friend or two that he had met through his father's work, but he had to cut ties eventually, when his father had finished whatever tests he was doing.

The most notable had been Grant DuPonte, the kid of one of the professor's at his dad's college. They had met when Jonathan was six. Grant had been Jonathan's best friend, and they even did regular best friend stuff – texting, sleepovers, that sort of thing. That is, until his father left the college for good, when Jonathan was around eleven.

Other than that, social experience was already thrown out the window.

"Look alive, kid. It's not going to be that bad. Don't you want to be around kids your age?" Jordan asked. She meant well, but Jonathan winced.

 _Thanks for reminding me._ "It's just...I don't even know how to act."

"Be yourself. Don't give in to peer pressure."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much, actually. Kids are vicious pack animals that prey on the weak and gullible. Don't be weak and gullible."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You're welcome." Jordan's phone started buzzing in the pocket of her jeans. "I've gotta go, that's the hospital. They need me in ER. Don't burn the apartment down."

She grabbed a backpack sitting on the coffee table that he assumed were her work clothes, and walked out. Jonathan sat down on the sofa, fingering April's phone number.

He had spare time. Why not call her?

 **Or are you Jonathan/Laurel? Or Jonathan/Girl You Haven't Met Yet?**


End file.
